


Plastic Love

by slexenskee (Sambomaster)



Series: From the Archives [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asexual Harry Potter, Draco is a dick, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mpreg, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates, at least at first, at least not yet haha, mentions of mpreg, no mpreg though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:18:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sambomaster/pseuds/slexenskee
Summary: Veela Draco Malfoy is dead set on Harry Potter becoming his mate. This would be great and all, if Harry didn’t despise Draco’s guts and, you know, wasn’t totally asexual and not at all about that life.





	Plastic Love

**Author's Note:**

> I love and hate the veela trope so much lol. Everything about the dubcon nature of veela mating in fandom simultaneously fascinates and disgusts me. Anyway I always read them and wonder, 'what if someone was just like wtf no I'm not about this life bye.'
> 
> This is an AU where Harry defeats Voldemort as a baby

Draco is a Veela. That’s cool and all, but Harry doesn’t really think it’s his place to care about the state of Draco’s genetic makeup—unlike the rest of Hogwarts, who can’t seem to shut up about it. So he’s a Veela. He can turn into some crazy fire-breathing bird, or something equally as arbitrary. Maybe there are some cosmetic changes, but Veela or no he’s still Draco Malfoy, douchebag extraordinaire and the biggest tool Harry has ever had the displeasure of meeting.

 

But Draco comes into his ‘Veela inheritance’ or whatever and suddenly you’d think he turned into a regular prince charming. His personality shortcomings are suddenly overlooked in favor of his Veela status and dashing good looks. Despite the prescription to his contacts that basically says he’s legally blind without them, Harry is as capable of seeing Draco as the rest of his classmates; academically he has all the features that could land him on Witch Weekly’s most attractive wizards of the month. If Harry was made to survey every student at Hogwarts and rate them on a scale of attractiveness, Draco would solidly be somewhere above Louis Tomlinson but below Tom Hiddleston.

 

And yeah, the whole Veela thing has definitely made him hotter. It’s not the placebo effect either; unlike the rest of Hogwarts Harry sees Draco quite clearly, and there really is a difference to his face. It’s gotten sharper, more aristocratic looking. His eyes have changed into a light mercury, where they had been significantly darker before. He supposes these new qualities are all things that would heighten his attractiveness, but they really do nothing for Harry.

 

Because _nothing_ does anything for Harry.

 

Harry is asexual.

 

He never saw much of a problem with that. It never got in the way of how he wanted to live his life, and as far as non-hetero sexual orientations go it’s fairly unobtrusive. Sure, sometimes it made him feel different from anyone else, but not any more different than his scar and his status as the ‘boy who lived’ had already made him feel.

 

It’s not that he couldn’t find people attractive. He could throw down with the best of them, and he and Hermione could spend hours in Diagon Alley whispering like mean-spirited old hags, rating the attractiveness of every boy and girl who passed. Whenever Seamus debated who was hotter in one of his trite magazines and for some unfathomable reason wanted Harry’s opinion, he always had one to give.

 

But aside from an appreciative side glance, Harry had never had any interest in looking any further than that.

 

It wasn’t as if he’d never had sex. There was that one time with Cedric in the bathroom during the Triwizard Tournament, and another time last year with an older Ravenclaw.  And then there was his brief thing with Cho, and after that another brief but infinitely more confusing stint with Ginny. But all he could say about sex after all that was… it was boring and uneventful.

 

He’d tried once with Cho but hadn’t been into it at all. She hadn’t really taken that well. Halfway through a couple weeks of messy kisses and uncoordinated groping and fondling with Ginny he realized he had as much interest in having sex with her as he did de-gnoming the garden, and cut it off before she could get too attached. Cedric had more or less just shoved his hand down Harry’s pants, and Harry remembered being too bewildered and surprised to do anything about it. He didn’t remember getting off at all that time, but he did remember giving Cedric a handjob. Cedric never commented on it once Harry had made it clear he didn’t want to be involved, and that had been that. The same could be said of the Ravenclaw boy.

 

At any rate, he didn’t really need all these sexual misadventures to confirm what he had already intrinsically knew about himself. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried it, wasn’t doing it with the right person or wasn’t doing it ‘the right way’; he just didn’t like it was all.

 

And of course, he’d never have come to this state of acceptance and confidence without the support of Hermione and Ron.

 

Hermione was all too willing to find him whatever reading material he might need. He didn’t need much, as she’d already devoured all of the books she sent him and more, and probably knew more about the topic than he did. She was practically his doctor and therapist wrapped up in one; if he ever had questions, Hermione was either there to answer them or provide emotional support. Ron’s support wasn’t nearly as blatant, but it was really his acceptance of it all that had helped Harry. Ron could be obtuse sometimes (that was an understatement) and rather tactless, but when Harry had finally confessed to him that he honestly found their conversations on girls and sex boring and kind of disgusting, Ron simply took it in stride. Harry had a feeling it had something to do with the fact Harry’s asexuality meant he wouldn’t be having sex with his little sister, but all the same Ron’s nonchalance on the matter was a great relief.

 

Aside from Hermione and Ron though, Harry had yet to tell anyone else.

 

But whom else would he tell?  His sexual preferences were no one’s business but his own. What business was it of theirs to know if he liked sex or if he didn’t, if he preferred boys over girls?

 

That’s sort of how he felt about Draco being a Veela. What did Harry care? Sure, he might not be the bloke’s biggest fan, but all the same it wasn’t any of his business if Draco was a Veela, a werewolf, or the next prince of Monaco. It was Draco’s own private affair.

 

xXx

 

The Great Hall was awash in gossip this fine Monday morning, and Harry had never wanted to bang his head into the table and die as profusely as he did right now.

 

“That hungover, huh?” Ron gave his back a pat in commiseration. The redhead didn’t look all that great himself.

 

“Drinking games with Dean and Seamus are never a good idea.”  Harry groused in agreement, reaching for a goblet of pumpkin juice, before thinking better of it and grabbing for water.

 

“Honestly, you two.” Hermione rolled her eyes, dropping into the seat across from them in one fluid motion. “You realize we have classes today, don’t you?”

 

Both Ron and Harry grumbled unintelligibly. Hermione, looking bright-eyed and ready for a day full of classes, spared them an unimpressed look, before sighing and shaking her head. Harry reached delicately for a piece of toast, all the while holding one hand over his ear.

 

“Is it just me, or is it louder than usual?” He asked to Ron.

 

“Everything is louder than usual.” Ron scowled. “Loud, and so damn bright…”

 

Hermione looked up from serving herself some sausage. “It is rather loud in here…” She agreed, frowning. “Maybe it’s just first-day excitement?”

 

“No one gets excited about classes but you, Mione.” Ron snorted.

 

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard.” Parvati gushed, leaning over with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

 

“Haven’t heard what?” Hermione frowned.

 

“ _Draco Malfoy_ is a Veela!” Parvati revealed in a rush, eyes widening.

 

This was not met with the reaction she had been expecting. Hermione frowned further; Ron gave a vague grunt in acknowledgment; Harry didn’t even bother to acknowledge the news at all, chugging water like it was his day job.

 

Parvati looked between the three of them, a moue of annoyance creasing her brows. “You don’t care?”

 

“I guess it _is_ the time for Veela inheritance to show, isn’t it?” Hermione noted aloud, but it was more to herself than to Parvati.

 

“Yeah. Great. Bloke’s a Veela on top of everything else,” Ron commented, annoyed, tearing apart his toast. “Like he needs anything else going for him.”

 

Harry groaned, setting his water down. “What does it matter?” He gasped out, blinking up into the pastoral light above the Great Hall, trying to keep up with the conversation to distract himself from his raging headache.

 

“It’s so exciting!” Parvati retorted. “He’ll have to choose a mate, you know.”

 

Oh, _that’s_ what this was about. It was a sex thing again.

 

Hermione looked disgusted at the whole affair, nose crinkling as she primly wiped her mouth. Parvati caught the movement, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, does Miss Granger not approve?” She asked, in a tone that made it very clear how she felt about the matter.

 

“Whatever I think about it personally, it’s a cultural and natural part of being a magical creature.” Hermione shrugged.

 

“Is it really that interesting?” Harry asked, finally feeling like he was starting to come alive again. “I’m assuming he just… chooses a mate?” It didn’t sound that interesting to him.

 

“It’s more than that!” Parvati retorted, sounding offended, at the same time as Hermione sighed.

 

“It’s—a bit of an affair.” She hedged. “There are ceremonies, and parties—

 

“Parties?” Harry repeated, incredulous. “What, are people going to _watch_?” Watch Malfoy have sex? Harry would rather hex himself in the foot, honestly.

 

“No, not like that. Gatherings, I meant. Of those with Veela blood. Seventeen is the age they come into their inheritance, start to show Veela features and change physically. By the time Samhain rolls around, they’re usually fully transformed and ready to find their mates.”

 

Harry blinked, nonplussed. “That’s it? So they find their Veela mate; that’s great, I guess. At seventeen though, really? Wouldn’t that suck?”

 

“Personally I wouldn’t want to,” Hermione replied candidly, once more drawing Parvati’s ire. “But like I said, it’s a big custom, especially among the pureblood families—the majority of them have Veela in their blood, you know.”

 

“Oh. No, I didn’t know.” Nor did he particularly care.

 

“It’s more than that.” Parvati cut in crossly. Then she gave a dreamy sigh. “It’s like—like something out of a fairytale. Everyone dresses up and puts on masquerade masks and dances… and by the end of it, one by one, they all find their prince charming or fairytale princess. And then they live happily ever after!”

 

Hermione appeared wholly unmoved. She turned to Harry. “It’s where the story of Cinderella comes from.” She explained, blandly.

 

“It’s all such a chore,” Ron whispered, conspiratorially. “Charlie had to go once; he said it was awful.”

 

Harry reared back, surprised. “Charlie is a Veela?” He exclaimed in shock.

 

“No, no!” Ron was quick to say. “He just—he was a potential Veela partner. Veela mates aren’t necessarily always other Veela. Somewhere along the line we must have had a Veela ancestor, is all. It's pretty common among pureblood families to have at least a bit of it.”

 

Which would explain the existence of Fleur Delacour.

 

“Like I said, it’s where Cinderella comes from.” Hermione continues. “She wasn’t a Veela, but she was still the mate of the Veela Prince. The glass shoe is an analogy for her scent, which is unique to a person and is the reason why she could become a Veela mate. Scent plays a large part in the reproductive practices of all magical creatures, although there’s not a lot of information on what about it is so significant.”

 

“Everyone has a scent that is unique to them, which is influenced by things like their emotions, personality and the potency of their magic.”

 

Harry digested this all slowly, still recovering from the mind-numbing headache pounding against his skull. “Okay.” He replied, tiredly. “What does this have to do with Draco Malfoy?”

 

“He’s the only Veela in the entire school.” Parvati informed him promptly.

 

“He’s the Prince.” Hermione added, rolling her eyes.

 

“I thought you said most pureblood families have Veela in their history?”

 

“Well sure, but that doesn’t mean they have enough to come into an inheritance.” Ron said, to Harry’s surprise. “Like I said my family probably has one too, but that must have been a long time ago because none of us besides Charlie have ever had to go to one.”

 

“Having a Veela in your family history almost guarantees your compatibility as a potential Veela mate.” Parvati revealed, before giving another dreamy sigh. “Merlin, I hope I have one.”

 

Harry still did not quite understand the appeal, but he did at least have his answer as to why the student body in Great Hall was being more annoying than usual.

 

“So Draco Malfoy is a magical prince charming, isn’t that lovely.” He snorted, swiping the remains of Ron’s toast and taking it for his own. “When do you think everyone will stop talking about him?”

 

They all stared at him.

 

“Not for a while.” Hermione answered, sympathetic to his plight.

 

“Guarantee you not until Halloween.” Ron piped up. “And then, you can bet he’s gonna be in the papers with his new ‘mate’.”

 

“Great.” Harry groused.

 

It was going to be Draco Malfoy day for the rest of the damn semester at this rate.

 

xXx

 

For the next few months, the world revolved around Draco Malfoy.

 

It was kind of awful.

 

Apparently having an unmated, mature, pureblood Veela around was cause for anarchy. Fleur had been bad enough, but she had only been a quarter. Harry wasn’t sure what Draco’s magical creature purity was, but he assumed it was definitely more than a quarter.

 

Girls and boys alike flocked to the boy as if under some kind of trance. Hermione told him it was his Veela allure, and confessed even she wasn’t quite immune to it. She wasn’t drooling after him, but she could at least acknowledge that the effects were there even if she wasn’t under its thrall.

 

Harry wouldn’t really know—he’d never been affected by Fleur, and he certainly wasn’t affected by Malfoy.

 

And Draco wasn’t even ‘presenting’. That was what those Veela at the World Cup had been doing, Ron explained to him. Harry hadn’t felt anything then either, but he could at least remember how it had affected everyone around him. Presenting was when a Veela consciously directed their allure onto a person or a group of people… and it was apparently a lot harder to throw off than Malfoy’s ambient magnetism.

 

Weeks passed.

 

The school continued to obsess over Draco Malfoy.

 

Harry continued to overlook all that in favor of his studies. He had done fantastically on his OWLS—surprising everyone including himself—and intended to follow that up by doing fantastically on his NEWTS. He was actually applying himself this year, something that the rest of his year should be doing too, but they were too distracted by Draco Malfoy and his pretty hair and pretty eyes.

 

It was irritating, but not unmanageable.

 

Harry could even get used to it; people flocked to Draco, whispered about him in groups, stared openly at him wherever he went—basically, they treated him the way they used to treat Harry. The boy-who-lived was wholly overlooked by the appearance of a Veela, and Harry was milking the opportunity to the fullest. It was nice. Draco was more than welcoming to take the spotlight as the apple of everyone’s eyes. Harry was just going to continue riding the struggle bus and whittling away his hours with Quidditch and studying in the library, and Draco could continue flouncing around the school as if he was actual royalty.

 

Unfortunately, the best laid plans of mice and men often get waylaid by teenage drama and total melodramatic bullshit, and Harry’s plans were no exception.

 

He was sitting in the Great Hall one day, completely minding his own business, when an unfamiliar owl saw it fit to smack him in the face with a thick letter.

 

Harry gave a muffled curse, grappling to catch the parchment before it could fall into his breakfast.

 

He took one look at it, paled, and then booked it out of the Hall in search of Hermione.

 

He found her holed up in their usual spot in the back of the library, surrounded by book stacks tall enough to obscure her hunched form. Harry zipped around the empty tables and stalked down the aisles, working himself into a proper hysteria by the time he got to her.

 

“Hermione,” he heaved, eyes wide. She looked up, and he dropped the letter in front of her. “Please tell me what the hell this is.”

 

Curiosity piqued, Hermione pushed her Transfiguration essay away in favor of inspecting this new parchment. Harry could see when she could past all that introductory fluff, for her eyes grew very wide and she began to mouth through the words faster. When she got to the end she leaned back, blinking. Her surprise cleared as she stared up at Harry, with far more calm than Harry thought appropriate.

 

“It’s an invitation, Harry.” She explained, gently.

 

“To… a Veela ball.” Harry added, through gritted his teeth. “From Narcissa Malfoy.”

 

“It would appear so.” She raised a brow coolly.

 

Harry threw himself into the chair next to her, grabbing her by the shoulders. “What am I supposed to do?” He hissed, frantically. “There has to be some kind of mistake…”

 

“Probably not, Harry. They don’t invite just anyone to these kinds of things.” She replied, unhelpfully.

 

“What sort of things? Balls? I don’t want to go to some damn ball, Hermione. I hate dancing. I can’t dance!”

 

“Nonsense.” Hermione laughed. “Hating dancing and being unable to dance are two separate things, Harry. The first might be true, but the latter definitely isn’t.”

 

“That is totally besides the point.” Harry pointed out, balefully. “I don’t want to go. Not to a gala hosted by Malfoy of all people, which is supposed to be one giant orgy party—

 

“I’m sure it’ll be a lot classier than that—

 

“At best or some long-winded convoluted pomp-and-circumstance affair at worst!” Harry finished. Hermione had nothing to say to that. So it was as he had suspected.

 

“I’m not going.” He announced, releasing her to lean back in his chair and cross his arms. “I’ll respectfully decline. I have school! And Quidditch practice!”

 

“A lot of our yearmates will be going, and they all have school and Quidditch too.” Hermione pointed out coolly. “Also, you can’t just say no, Harry. No one says no!”

 

“Why not?” Harry asked, perplexed. “What if you don’t want to go?”

 

“You go anyway.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s incredibly insulting to turn down an invitation to a Yuletide ceremony, especially one that’s part of mating customs. You might not like Malfoy, but at the very least you don’t want to make a real enemy out of him. Petty schoolyard fights aside, his family is highly influential. Declining would be social suicide.”

 

“You act like I care about my social standing in any capacity.” Harry retorted, flatly.

 

“It’s more than that. Mr. Malfoy is a high government official, if you ever want a post in the Ministry he’s not the sort of person you want to make an enemy out of.”

 

“You know very well I have no intentions of staying here.” As in, the Wizarding World. Or Wizarding Britain, at least. His fame was stifling. He had every intention of leaving for the continent once school was over.

 

“It’s the principle of the thing.” Hermione snipped back with a huff. “I know it’s not your scene; I know you’ll probably hate the whole thing, but that’s no reason to burn bridges that could one day come back to bite you.”

 

“Hermione you know I can’t do this,” Harry complained, in what was definitely _not_ a whine. “This is like, everything I dislike in life.”

 

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes before taking a deep breath. When she opened them, her gaze was sympathetic but determined.

 

“Harry,” she patted his arm. “I _completely_ understand where you’re coming from, trust me. I think the whole thing is a little gross. These poor unsuspecting potential mates just wait around for someone to come and claim them? Like they don’t have anything better to do than sit around and wait all day for someone to come and have sex with them? Even as someone who perfectly enjoys having sex, I find it in poor taste. I choose my own partners, thank you very much. If I don’t like you, I don’t like you. It’s as simple as that.”

 

“What do you mean?” Harry’s eyes widened in alarm. “Do they not have a choice?”

 

“From what I’ve gathered… not really.” Hermione grimaced. “The allure is so strong. Theoretically the potential mate has to accept the dominant pursuer, but saying no can be difficult when all your pheromones are telling you to jump into bed with the other person.”

 

“Is this your attempt to convince me to go?” Harry snorted.

 

“I’m just trying to give you a full picture.” Hermione returned. “Look, I know this is not to your preferences at all. I know you don’t even like sex, let alone these complicated mating practices…”

 

This would be a lot easier if Harry was a Lavender or Parvati, both of whom would pounce on the opportunity to show up to some lavish extravaganza, have dozens of incredibly attractive dominant partners looking for their potential mate and giving them all of their undivided attention, and courting them with expensive gifts and moonlit walks. The atmosphere, the outfits… it did sound like something out of some trite misogynist fairytale.

 

“But just go this once, and it’ll be over. Look at Charlie! He came out unscathed!”

 

Yeah, but Ron had made it sound like he narrowly missed death on that one.

 

Hermione did have a point though. He didn’t want to be rude. And surely it couldn’t be _that_ awful.

 

xXx

 

It was really that awful.

 

And there was apparently three more days left of this fiasco.

 

Harry sighed, checking his watch again. He’d just arrived about an hour ago, and all he wanted to do was leave again. Maybe he could fake an illness. Damn, he should have brought one of the twin’s puking pasties…

 

The moment he’d arrived he noticed something went wrong.

 

He’d intended to sort of slink past all the festivities without bringing attention to himself, hanging out in the back maybe or finding other people he knew to hang out with. But the moment he walked in everyone had just _stopped talking_. Out of nowhere. And then they turned to stare at him, as if he had shown up dressed in one of Dumbledore's hideous outfits. He stared back at the crowds, feeling like a deer in headlights. Had he done something wrong? He should have had Hermione write down everything about Veela mating parties, dammit. It’s not as if he could google this shit.

 

He’d never been more relieved to see a Malfoy in his life.

 

A tall, slender and impeccably dressed woman weaved her way through the crowd, floating over towards him even as everyone else continued to stare at him. She greeted him when she came close enough, smiling and revealing herself as the Malfoy matriarch. Then she turned around to spare the crowds over her shoulder a chilling glare. They dispersed after that, returning to their groups to whisper and steal an occasional glance his direction.

 

Narcissa Malfoy wasn’t all that bad. She was polite, and rather cold, but she seemed to be making a serious effort to get him to feel comfortable.

 

Despite her best efforts, it wasn’t really working.

 

He tried to hide it, but it was clear Narcissa had some way of knowing exactly how he felt about this whole event. Probably had something to do with his scent. He was really regretting not asking Hermione to write him up a Veela cheat sheet.

 

He felt pure, unadulterated relief when he saw the familiar figure of Charlie Weasley work his way through the crowd with a friendly wave.

 

Harry sighed in relief, waving back.

 

“Harry,” he smiled charmingly, before bowing deeply to Narcissa. “Lady Malfoy.”

 

“Mister Weasley,” Narcissa returned, surprisingly polite. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you could make it this year.”

 

“Ah yes, well, I just happened to be in town this year… normally I’m out of the country during this time.” Charlie replied diplomatically.

 

She nodded. “Well, it’s a pleasure to have you join us this year. I hope you both enjoy the festivities.”

 

With that she excused herself stiffly, retreating back into the throngs of ball gowns and masquerade masks. Despite the fact they were alone, Charlie hadn’t moved to take off his mask, so neither did Harry. He didn’t feel like revealing his identity to everyone here, although from his entrance he was starting to wonder if that was a bit of a moot point.

 

“Doubtful.” Harry snorted, once she was far out of earshot.

 

Charlie laughed. “Not your cup of tea either, I take it.”

 

“Not at all.” Harry replied with vehemence. “This is _awful.”_

 

“Well, I don’t disagree.” Charlie agreed easily. “I usually manage to get out of them, what with being in Romania and all… I hadn’t realized my visit home would coincide with it this year though—unfortunate oversight on my part.”

 

Harry let out a long breath. “Well I’m glad you forgot, otherwise I’d be thrown to the dogs all alone.”

 

Charlie turned to him, and beneath the mask Harry could see amusement in his eyes. “Scared, Harry?”

 

“I don’t know.” Harry replied, honestly. “But I’m definitely uncomfortable.”

 

“Some people really love these kinds of things.” The redhead gestured towards a group chattering and laughing uproariously, champagne flutes in hand. Harry was fairly sure that was Pansy Parkinson and a couple other Slytherins underneath the masks. “It’s considered an honor in pureblood circles, you know. But for outsiders it can be… overwhelming.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll say.” Harry nodded, his gaze darting around the mingling crowds. Was it just his imagination, or were they circling him? “You seem okay, though.”

 

“I’m more or less resigned to it.” Charlie replied with a sigh. “Every year since I was your age I’ve gotten an invitation—and I’m sorry to say I wasn’t able to get out of it every time.”

 

Harry looked up at him. “You never found a mate?”

 

Charlie snorted. “There were certainly a good deal of people who found _me,_ but no, I didn’t. It didn’t help that I had been in a committed relationship the last time few times I had been dragged to one of these.” He paused. “That I still _am_ in one.”

 

“Oh.” Harry digested this thoughtfully. He hadn’t even considered the idea of one of the potential Veela mates having someone else they wanted. Also, he hadn’t even known Charlie was in a relationship.

 

“Not that that stopped anyone from trying,” Charlie added with a flicker of annoyance. “These guys are persistent Harry, and if you’re not careful they’ll snag you under their spell and the next thing you know, you’re pregnant and bound for life.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened in horror. “Pregnant?” He squeaked, as if Charlie had just said ‘purgatory’. To Harry, the two may as well be synonymous.

 

“You didn’t know?” Charlie looked at him in surprise. “Part of the reason you’re considered a ‘potential mate’ is because you’re capable of bearing children.”

 

“But—but—“ Harry sputtered. “What about all the girl dominant Veela here searching for their potential mates?” He pointed out, alarmed.

 

Charlie shrugged. “Just because a bloke _can_ have children doesn’t mean he will. Just because you’re capable of bearing children doesn’t mean you can’t be with a girl.” Then he leaned down and winked. “And two girls have their own way of going about it too, you know.”

 

No, Harry didn’t know. Again, he was asexual. This stuff never appealed to him. And _that_ definitely wasn’t common knowledge.

 

“So, what are you going to do?” Harry asked faintly, shaking away his thoughts. “When people come to… to try to claim you, I guess.” He wrinkled his nose at the thought, trying to remind himself that people did actually enjoy this whole game of chase, all the courting and coy looks… He just didn’t happen to be one of them.

 

“What’ll I do? Nothing. Eventually they realize I’m not going to fall into their thrall and have no interest in them, and leave me be.” Charlie replied cheerfully. “Like I said, I’m in a relationship right now. And my feelings for her are so profound that no silly Veela allure could ever sway me.”

 

At this Harry perked up, smiling slightly. “ _Her_ , huh? And why have I never met this her, then?”

 

Charlie looked away, and Harry could see a bashful blush underneath his mask. “It’s just a bit complicated… and you know very well how overwhelming meeting the family can be.”

 

He definitely knew the feeling. His smile grew. “Well I’m happy for you, Charlie. You seem really happy.”

 

Charlie nodded, smiling back. Then it dropped, and Charlie leaned in closer with a serious look in his eyes. “Honestly Harry I’m more worried for you… do you know what you’re getting into?”

 

“Not really, no.” Harry answered, frankly. “But I do know that whatever it is I want no part of it.”

 

Beneath the mask, Harry could make out the skepticism in the older Weasley’s eyes. “You’re sure about that?” He clarified, urgently. “Even a hint of indecision and you might just find yourself waking up married to a Veela you’ve never met before.”

 

The thought of being even remotely indecisive was amusing. Harry folded his arms. “Don’t worry,” he assured Charlie, coolly. “That won’t be an issue.”

 

“Then you’re just here to be polite.” Charlie affirmed.

 

“Pretty much.” Harry sighed. “Hermione made it sound like saying no without any real reason was like signing my death wish.”

 

“It certainly is a grievous insult; one that wouldn’t be forgiven.”

 

“You get out of it all the time though, and they seem to like you.”

 

“Work and travel can be an acceptable excuse.” Charlie shrugged. “This is dragon breeding season too, so it’s never a good idea for the Dragon Tamers to be very far. And Britain is rather far.”

 

Harry had no idea why his lack of attendance would be seen as something so horribly offensive, but had long since given up trying to rationalize any of this mating process at all. It all seemed so formal and ostentatious and complicated, in the same way everything about pureblood society was.

 

“Well, let it be my first and last winter mating celebration then,” Harry let out a long breath, tightening his arms around himself. Charlie shot him a curious look. “Because I have no intention of being in the country by the time the next one rolls around.”

 

Charlie blinked, and then laughed. “That’s the spirit! Come visit me in Romania. Dragons are lovely this time of year.”

 

“I thought you said they were mating.”

 

“Yeah! It’s such a sight.”

 

Harry made a pinched expression, grimacing slightly. “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

 

xXx

 

This was not how Draco had imagined his Veela maturity would go down.

 

To be fair, he hadn’t expected Harry Potter of all people to be his mate either, but that was just a small setback. Aside from the fact that he and Harry were not… well to put it delicately, not the _best_ of friends, Harry as a whole was not a bad choice.

 

The more he thought about it, the more appealing he found it.

 

Well, Harry wasn’t really his mate _yet_ , but Draco had found him first. As far as Veela mating was concerned, whoever called dibs first got to claim the person in question as their own. Or at least, that's what he understood from those boring Veela inheritance tutoring lessons he'd barely paid attention to this summer. Draco had noticed immediately that Harry Potter of all people was a potential Veela mate. It was impossible not to. Now that he had come into his magical creature blood, his smell was overwhelming. Everyone had always known Harry Potter was powerful, but it was one thing to know it in the abstract and another to have it blaring in your face like a klaxon horn. Potter was powerful; he would provide powerful heirs. There was a deep, instinctual part of him that was very attracted to that fact. And Draco supposed he had other redeeming qualities as well.  

 

Potter was nice, smart whenever he bothered to apply to himself, a great Quidditch player… And Draco had seen him with the younger players on his team, that kind of maternal instinct was oddly alluring right now. Potter was good with kids, and his kindness would only serve him well in motherhood. Yeah. Potter was definitely appealing. And that was to say nothing of his looks. He was a rather good looking bloke—Draco could only imagine the line of potential partners waiting outside his door. He bristled slightly at the thought of his mate with others. Did Potter get around? With a charming face and roguish grin like that Draco wouldn’t doubt it. He’d heard a couple rumors, but who knew if those were true. Was Potter with someone right now? Better not to think about that, lest he lose control of his temper and accidentally set something on fire.  

 

First impressions aside, the longer he thought about it the more he came to accept it—even relish it. Harry Potter _was_ going to be his mate. And he couldn’t wait to claim him.

 

He’d been dreaming about it ever since he realized Harry was a potential Veela mate, actually.

 

Those were some damn good dreams. He couldn’t wait to experience the real thing. He bet Harry was a total tiger in the sack. Would he try to fight him for dominance? That sent a shiver up his spine. Merlin, he hoped so. He wanted to pin the boy down and make him scream; he wanted Harry in the throes of ecstasy, moaning his name and begging him for more. And he wanted to claim him over, and over, over—preferably on every surface available, horizontal or no. Veela mating was intense. It was practically his favorite fantasy to get off on these days. He thought about it so much it was starting to get seriously distracting. He was counting down the days until the winter season, and he could finally get his hands on the boy.

 

Draco may have slightly overlooked the reality of the situation in favor of his overly excited libido, though. Mainly, the reality that he and Harry hated each other.

 

What did they know of hate, though? Draco thought, dismissing the issue. They were just kids. Harry would grow out of it, and realize that there was more to Draco than an antagonizing school adversary.

 

He knew Harry had gotten an invite, and the boy would be an idiot not to attend. Even if Draco’s family was hosting the festivities this year, he would have to come. Who wouldn’t want to? It was the opportunity of a lifetime. His parents wouldn’t invite just anyone. All the Veela looking for their mates would be of the highest class; the upper echelon of aristocracy, rolling in wealth. You couldn’t pick a better match than that. All his classmates had been asking him for invites, as if he could just hand them out regardless of if they had the potential or not.

 

They had been unbearable as of late—the whole school had, really.

 

Except Harry. He had noticed immediately that Harry wasn’t nearly as affected by the charm he naturally exuded as everyone else was.

 

He smirked inwardly; this just made it all the more interesting, though. This chase was going to be _a lot_ of fun.  

 

He had practically been a ball of pent up excitement and teenage hormones ever since he had arrived from school last night. The manor’s house elves were hard at work stringing up lights and setting out tables full of crystal plates and silk napkins, painting the yard into an atmospheric setting fit for a Yuletide mating celebration. Malfoy manor’s many guest rooms were cleaned to perfection in anticipation of the many partners who would find themselves in need of a private room. Draco hadn’t bothered to clean his room, nothing about it really mattered aside from the bed anyway, he thought with a smirk. And the bed was beautiful; a large four-poster with voluminous mountains of pillows and an ocean of silken sheets. And even then, the bed itself paled in comparison to what would happen on it. He could only imagine how Harry would look erotically sprawled against his sheets, staring up at him with lidded, lustful eyes.

 

And then it was finally time to start the gala.

 

As he watched the guests trickle in Draco had to admit the pickings this year were better than usual. He’d been invited to a few once he had turned fifteen, mostly just to spectate. As a dominant Veela he would be the one to pursue his mate, and he wouldn’t be able to do that until he was seventeen and a fully matured Veela. The potential mates arrived with starry, dazzled eyes, taking in the glamour and splendor of the Malfoy manor and it’s sprawling lawns. That was about the time their gaze lowered onto him, as if realizing all of this could be theirs if Draco chose them. Quite frankly, there were quite a few Draco wouldn’t mind a couple minutes with. But none had yet to hold a candle to Harry.

 

On the subject of Harry, Draco’s eyes scanned the crowd to no avail. He hadn’t seen his classmate yet, even though the majority of the invited Hogwarts students were already in attendance. He was the only pursuing Veela at the school, but there were a handful of other students who had the potential to be his mate. Pansy among them, unfortunately. He ignored her in favor of his continued search through the guests, trying to find Harry.

 

Draco found him soon enough. Draco—and everyone else in the whole goddamn place.

 

He felt his breath catch in his throat, heart skipping a beat.

 

His magic was incredible, lit with the burning intensity of the coming winter solstice behind it; it unfurled around him like a tangible tidal wave of pure power. And that was to say nothing of his scent. And Merlin, did Harry look beautiful. Someone must have told him to take a comb to his hair and wear something presentable, because he looked absolutely ravishing.

 

Ravishing, and terrified.

 

Luckily his mother came over to quickly to diffuse the situation. Speaking of his smell, right now his fear and anxiety was obvious; the usually intoxicatingly sweet scent had turned a bit sour, a sure sign of negative emotions, and that wouldn’t do at all. Veela had to be accepted by their potential mate before they could get to the actual mating, and that wouldn’t happen if they were too frightened to say yes.

 

It took a while—and one Charlie Weasley—to calm the boy down enough for his scent to return to normal, but even then the scent of apprehension clung to his aura. That was normal, though. Harry was probably lost and confused, alone in a crowd of people he didn’t know, with all of them staring hungrily at him.

 

Draco cursed himself for not scent-marking the boy when he had him all alone at Hogwarts. He’d been arrogant, and he hadn’t realized how much of a commotion Harry would make. Despite whatever bold claims he’d made about Harry for sure becoming his mate, he had no real claim to the boy. He hadn’t expected to have so many competitors for the boy’s attention—looks like he’d have to employ some underhanded tricks. Good thing he had the home turf, then.  

 

He made sure to keep an eye on the dark-haired boy as he wove his way around the attendees.

 

A great deal of them caught his eye, smirking or smiling coyly, trying to garner his attention. Draco paid them no mind though, following the scent of his parents towards the center of the terrace. They were mingling with another older couple, elegant flutes in their hands as they chattered casually. Draco only had to catch his father’s eye for the man to nod wordlessly and excuse himself from the conversation, leaving Narcissa to deftly handle her own.

 

“Draco,” he murmured, once he was close enough, “did you find someone?”

 

“Yes.” Draco nodded gravely. “And it’s—

 

“Wait, let me guess.” Lucius drawled, amused. “Harry Potter.”

 

Draco looked up sharply. “How did you—“

 

“Come now Draco, you’ve only obsessed over the boy since childhood. And to top it off, he has the potential to become a Veela mate?”

 

Draco smiled sheepishly, chastised. When he put it that way, it did seem sort of obvious…

 

“He’s a good choice.” Lucius approved, pensively. “Almost _too_ good… I don’t doubt that every other Veela in attendance is waiting for a chance to claim him.”

 

Draco’s smile fell at that, morphing into a scowl. “I am well aware, father. Which is why I had an idea in mind.”

 

Lucius looked down at his son, one aristocratic brow rising. “Oh?”

 

xXx

 

Harry wondered if this was just another part of the convoluted mating convention or if the Malfoy’s were trying to do something interesting.

 

Harry and all the other potential mates were ushered into the lustrous rose gardens, ostensibly to go in and mingle with other guests their age away from the prying eyes of the adults. Harry snorted. Big guess as to what they were supposed to be doing away from those ‘prying eyes’. Harry had went through the entrance with a large crowd of people, Charlie included, but at some point between the odd marble busts loitering about the gravel path and the fairy fountains and those damn distracting peacocks, Harry found himself lost and detached from the rest of the group.

 

 _This is probably part of the plan too, though,_ he thought, annoyed. One by one they’d get lost in the rose hedges, and end up lured by a dashing and handsome Veela waiting for them in the maze of flowers.

 

Also, was it just Harry, or were these flower hedges turning around on him?

 

Around the third time he found himself at the same dead end, he decided that they were, indeed, turning around on him.

 

Great. Just great.

 

Well, let them come and find him then, Harry decided as he flopped onto a nearby marble bench. Out in the distance he could hear the distant laughter and merry making of people having a good time. Harry scowled; at least e everyone else seemed to be having a good time. Except for him, all alone and feeling like he was being watched. Oh well. If worst came to worst he had no qualms gutting anyone who came o close like a fish.

 

According to Hermione it wasn’t uncommon for the Veela mating to get a little… violent. Usually with two Veela’s fighting over their potential mate. But it wasn’t unheard of for the Veela and their mate to get into a bit of a fight themselves. Harry had no intention of losing that fight, and apparently there was a clause somewhere in the (woefully diminutive) magical creature right’s bill that dismissed homicide when mating as a perfectly legal action. No one else seemed all that concerned about that, Neville and Ron included. Harry had never felt more like an outsider than he had these past few days leading up to this party; this was a part of the Wizarding world he had never known, never grown up in.

 

Suddenly he could see where the enormous bridge between muggleborns and purebloods came from. He couldn’t seem to reconcile the two worlds and colliding cultures. For purebloods—and Veela purebloods, specifically—this was an accepted and well respected part of their society. For Harry it felt like accidentally stumbling into a world without Tinder; a bizarre world a couple hundred years in the past, in the heart of the Victorian era, with formal courting procedures and matchmaking balls.

 

Someone was bound to find him eventually.

 

At first Harry didn’t recognize him, the darkness obscuring most of his features, the mask doing a fine job obscuring the rest. But he recognized that platinum blonde hair, and there was something familiar to the way he walked.

 

He didn’t know whether to be surprised or not to see Draco Malfoy round the bend. Instead, he settled for neutrality.

 

“Malfoy.” He greeted, apprehensively.

 

To his great bewilderment, Draco smiled at him. If he was surprised or disappointed that Harry had found out his identity so quickly, he didn’t show it. “Hello, Harry.”

 

Harry wasn’t all that surprised to find Malfoy knew exactly who he was, too. And when the hell did he become ‘Harry’?

 

Suddenly it felt as if the scent of the rose bushes was growing overwhelming. It was giving Harry a headache honestly, and he resisted the urge to sneeze.

 

Draco watched him closely, tilting his head. “Is something wrong, Harry?”

 

“Damn allergies.” The brunette cursed, waving vaguely in his direction. “It’s alright, they go away eventually.”

 

“I’m sorry, does your head hurt?” The blonde crooned sweetly, drawing closer until he could brush a concerned hand across Harry’s forehead.

 

Harry reared back with lightning fast reflexes, sliding out of the blonde’s reach. Draco frowned down at him, a flicker of annoyance crossing his eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Harry retorted, shortly. “And I would appreciate it if you kept your distance, Malfoy.”

 

At this, Malfoy smiled. “Sure, whatever you want, Harry.” He all but purred his name. He sat at the far end of the bench, raising his hands up in surrender as he asked coyly, “Is this better?”

 

“Yes.” Harry snapped.

 

Merlin, what the hell happened to Malfoy? It was like he’d been replaced by a pod person or something. Or maybe he was just pumped up with hormones and ready to fuck anything that moved. Hard to say. Seeing as though Harry had never been hormonal enough to want to fuck anyone, he really had no idea just how influential one’s sex drive could be upon one’s psyche.

 

“How are you finding the party so far?” Malfoy asked, casually.

 

Harry was still on guard, though, not at all fooled by that friendly tone of voice. “It’s just swell.” He bit out, sarcastically. Hell. He was supposed to be polite, wasn’t he? It would be pointless if he dragged himself here only to insult the hosts anyway. “Your house is nice.” He added, begrudgingly.

 

“Thank you. You should see the interior—especially at night, it’s just magnificent.”

 

Harry spared him a tight smile. “I’m sure.”

 

“We could go right now, you know. The flowers are beautiful and all, but it gets a bit trite after a while, doesn’t it?” Malfoy said, coaxing. Harry’s gaze slid to him, but he did not reply.

 

“No one would notice we were missing.” He continued, voice soft and soothing. “This party’s gotten kind of boring, anyway.”

 

“I rather like the flowers.” Harry returned primly.

 

“Truly? What do you think of peonies?”

 

Harry didn’t think anything of them, they were a flower. “They’re nice.” He replied, vaguely.

 

“My mother has a beautiful collection inside our greenhouse. It puts the rose gardens to shame, quite honestly.” There was definitely something suggestive in that tone, but Harry ignored it.

 

There was a long pause as Harry refused to add to the conversation, and Malfoy seemed at a loss as to how to continue.

 

That was because he _was_ at a loss as to how to continue.

 

Harry continued to stare at him blankly—looking increasingly annoyed the longer he stuck around. What the hell was going wrong? He was doing everything perfectly. He had approached his intended mate, having secured the perimeter and sealed Harry off from everyone else. With no other pursuing Veela in the immediate area Draco was able to get close to his potential partner, exuding waves of allure as he did so.

 

He knew Harry would be a difficult catch; when the allure didn’t affect him at first, Draco hadn’t been surprised. If anything, he was thrilled. It would be boring if Harry submitted to him so easily.

 

But it would be far worse if Harry didn’t submit to him at all.

 

Draco inwardly frowned at the brunette across the bench from him. He wasn't exhibiting any of the usual signs of attraction. Draco had been considered attractive his whole life, so he knew how to read the signs. Coupled with his wealth and good social standing, and now his Veela inheritance, his popularity had only skyrocketed further. And yet Harry seemed stoic and disinterested.

 

No one had resisted his allure yet. Until now.

 

Harry appeared wholly unmoved—even annoyed—at his close proximity.

 

Draco didn’t understand it.

 

Was the allure not working? Did he need to be closer? Maybe Harry was just that powerful, that a mere enticing magical aura wouldn’t be enough to make him lose himself to his emotions.

 

Harry stood up, abruptly tossing Draco out of his thoughts.

 

“Well, this has been lovely.” He brushed imaginary lint off his impeccable robes. “I’ll take a raincheck on the tour. If you would be so kind, could you get your rose hedges to move for me? I know they’re conniving to keep me cornered, but I’ve found myself quite parched, and would like to get back to the main party for some refreshments…”

 

Draco stood up quickly as well, eyes widening with alarm as his thoughts raced. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Harry was—Harry was rejecting him? How? He didn’t even seem remotely interested, which shouldn’t be possible. He was a potential Veela mate, for Merlin’s sake. They were potential mates for a reason—because they had compatibility. On some level, every Veela and every potential Veela mate had a level of natural compatibility; the whole mating season existed to give Veela’s and their future mates an opportunity to meet and see whom they were the _most_ compatible with.

 

And Draco was positive that Harry was the most suitable mate for him. He knew it ever since the start of term, when he had first laid eyes on the boy since coming into his Veela inheritance. The boy simply sung to him, everything about him as alluring to Draco as Draco was to everyone else.

 

So why wasn’t this working? Harry was completely rebuffing him. There wasn’t even a hint of mutual attraction, when there should at least be _something_.

 

“Harry—“ Draco reached out, thinking quickly.

 

The moment his fingers brushed against Harry’s arm the boy was jerking it away, looking _disgusted_ of all things. “Please don’t touch me.” He gritted out, looking as if he was trying to be as polite as possible.

 

“Right. Sorry.” Draco agreed, shocked into complacency by Harry’s vehement rejection. “I hadn’t meant to offend.”

 

Harry looked as if he was struggling with what to say next. “It’s fine.” He decided upon, but his scent had turned sour again—bitter even, which would infer he was repulsed despite his assurances. “I just—don’t like being touched.”

 

“I see.” Draco replied, surveying the other boy closely.

 

He had never known that about the other boy, but now that he thought about it, he never saw anyone touching Harry—not even a friendly back pat, or a one-armed hug, or a hand on his shoulder. No one but the mudblood and Weasel, who appeared to be exceptions to that.

 

Was that what was going wrong? Harry was just incredibly skittish? That might explain why he was still keeping his distance, despite the allure. Maybe he was just hiding what he was feeling beneath a façade. Behind his masquerade mask, his expression was impossible to read. And what he could decipher from scent alone was not promising.

 

Draco gritted his teeth.

 

None of this was going according to plan.

 

Maybe he just had to be slower with Harry. After all, up until a few days ago Harry presumably knew nothing about Veela or even pureblood society, let alone their mating practices. He was probably wary and confused about it all, and just needed some time to adjust. If they just spent a bit longer together, the boy was sure to open up to him. Yes… they just had to have more time together. Harry seemed like the kind of person who needed to warm up to someone, and Draco was sure, given enough time, Harry would become _quite_ snuggly and warm with him…

 

This would be fine, if only Draco had the time to put this plan in place. As it is, he probably only has a few minutes before the other Veela discover where they are. The shifting walls will only slow them down for so long, especially when Harry’s magic seemed to unfurl around them like a brilliant, blinding light—beckoning everyone with it’s enticing power.

 

Draco lowered his hand, forcing himself to smile warmly. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. I guess this is all a lot for you, huh?”

 

Harry gave him an incredulous look. “Just a bit, yeah.” He replied, voice high with sarcasm and disbelief.

 

“I promise, it’s not as bad as it sounds.” He assured the other boy, whose look of disbelief only seemed to grow tenfold at the statement.

 

“Really.” He stated, raising a brow.

 

“Really.” Draco affirmed, smiling wider. “I understand you were raised by muggles, so this is probably your first encounter with… all of this.”

 

Harry nodded slowly.

 

“But it’s not at all what you think. Think of it like any other social soiree—it’s just a chance to meet new people, and see if you connect with any of them.” He continued. “I know it’s a lot of people, but it’s really not that scary. No one wants to hurt you, Harry. They just want to get to know you better.”

 

 _And get in my pants._ Harry added silently, not at all impressed with this spiel.

 

Draco took a small step forward, pleased when Harry didn’t immediately back away. “There’s no pressure.” He added.

 

Aside from accidental pregnancy and mating for life, of course.

 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Draco assured him, voice low as he took another step. He waited for a sign that this was working; lowered lashes, dilated pupils, quickness of breath, a blush to his cheeks, a parted mouth…

 

Nothing.

 

He was a mere arm’s length away from the boy, crowding him against the bushes and—nothing.

 

Just a flicker of amusement in those sparkling eyes. “I know.” Harry agreed, with a slight chuckle.

 

Draco pursed his lips, beginning to feel frustrated.

 

He took a calming breath, closing his eyes and releasing more of his magic into the air. His allure was so thick around them he felt as if it was a physical weight upon his shoulders, and yet regardless of how saturated they were in it the effects remained negligible.

 

When he opened them the frustration was completely gone, replaced with a gentle, enticing look. “But if you do happen to feel something... that’s okay too.” He began, voice smooth and appealing. “It’s perfectly natural. It’s okay to lose yourself in the feeling… to want to feel good…”

 

He was close enough now that his breath tickled the boys ear. “What do you feel right now?” He asked, tone sweet as honey.

 

Harry met his gaze.

 

“Like I’m thirsty as fuck.” He said, plainly. “And if you aren’t going to make yourself useful and show me the exit, I’ll just have to find it myself.”

 

_Shit._

 

That hadn’t worked either? That should have been enough to arouse even the most stringent of mates. More than enough. He’d even tried to calm the boy down, explain the situation, get him to relax some more. And he knew it had been working—he could smell it as the bitterness in Harry’s scent melted away. But he also hadn’t gotten a whiff of a spicier scent, something more earthy and musky, a sure sign of arousal. Which meant Harry hadn’t been aroused at all. He was no longer annoyed, but certainly not aroused.

 

Harry walked around him, making to round the corner into the rest of the garden.

 

Draco cursed again, moving after him, feeling panicked with his lack of progress. He’d thought he’d have Harry in bed moaning his name by now, utterly and irrevocably claimed.

 

He couldn’t be any farther than that reality right now.

 

His eyes widened as Harry leapt back, dodging a jet of purple light.

 

Two fighting Veela tumbled from around the corner, rolling around in front of them, snarling and casting curses. Harry seemed frozen in surprise, even as both Veela ceased fighting, nostrils flaring as they turned to stare at him. It wasn’t long before their sights narrowed on Draco as well, realizing they would have to fight him as well for the right to claim this potential mate.

 

Draco was having none of that.

 

One of them lunged as the other fired off a hex, but Draco had moved as well. He dove towards Harry, grabbing the boy with a vice-like grip on his arm.

 

They disappeared with a pop, just as the two Veela descended on the spot they had just vacated.

 

xXx

 

They dropped onto his bed abruptly, crashing down onto the soft surface. They bounced a couple times, and before Harry could regain his bearings Draco had flipped them over until he was on top of him, pinning him down with his weight. Harry’s eyes flew open in alarm as he took in their positions. His eyes darted across the room, realizing exactly where they had apparated to.

 

He felt his heart constrict upon itself, not in anticipation but in apprehension. He didn’t like people in his personal space. He didn’t like people touching him without his consent—and he definitely didn’t like it when people were hovering over him, crushing him into a bed.

 

Draco smirked down at him, breathing heavily. “That was kind of fun, wasn’t it?”

 

Harry looked up at him with incredulity. “That’s your idea of fun?” He retorted, scoffing.

 

He leaned down further, pressing their bodies closer. “You have to admit, it was kind of exhilarating.” He said, breathlessly.

 

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, not looking amused in the slightest. Draco didn’t notice, all but purring as he lowered his head to the silky smooth skin against Harry’s collar. By Merlin did he smell amazing…

 

“Draco,” Harry called, warningly.

 

Draco ignored him, pressing the boy into the bed further with his weight, holding both his arms down as he finally got his mouth on the boy. The vein beneath his lips jumped, making him moan in anticipation. It would be so easy to just bite him right now. He could feel his mouth watering at the very idea of claiming the boy. He was so close, with Harry on the bed beneath him, caged in his arms.

 

“Finally,” he murmured, pinning the boy’s hands above his head with one hand, using his free hand to push apart the material of his robes. “ _Finally_ … Merlin, I‘ve been waiting for this…”

 

“No…” Harry wiggled in his grip, the movement only arousing the Veela further. “Stop it…”

 

He mouthed against his neck some more, lavishing the vital tendons with attention as he bit and sucked up the column of the boy’s neck. By Merlin he tasted amazing. And Harry was finally here, in his bed, writhing beneath him.

 

“Draco,” Harry called again, sharper this time.

 

He finally managed to worm his way through Harry’s outer robe, tugging his shirt free.

 

“Draco, _stop.”_ Harry snapped.

 

He bit down on the boy’s collar, not hard enough to sink his fangs in, but enough to give him a warning. Harry hissed at the feeling, growing still in his arms. Draco gave an encouraging murmur of approval, finally sliding his hand up Harry’s shirt to trace against the milky smooth skin he found beneath.

 

With the revealing skin came a wafting scent that was undeniably Harry. Something soft, and kind, and warm. It rose into the air as he pushed Harry’s shirt up further, floating into his lungs as he breathed in against the intimate expanse of skin beneath Harry’s ear. It was such a wonderful scent, so pleasing and delicate and—and bitter?

 

And then there was nothing but pain, as Harry slammed his knee into Draco’s groin, rolling the blonde off of him and standing up in one fluid motion.

 

Draco gasped aloud, eyes watering as he curled up in pain. “Oh, fucking _fuck_ that hurt.”

 

Harry only snorted, readjusting his clothing.

 

“Why did you do that?” Draco groaned, muffling his mouth against the sheets as he almost gave a howl of pure pain.

 

“Gee Malfoy, I wonder why.” Harry replied, sarcastically.

 

Draco gave another grunt of pain, rolling onto his side. His eyes pried open a bit, to reveal Harry standing beside his bed, looking down at him coldly.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you to _stop_ before it gets through your thick skull?” He continued on, real anger bleeding into his tone. It matched his scent, which had grown darker and more volatile. “As if I hadn’t made it obvious I wasn’t interested from the very beginning, I would have thought a direct no would have given you pause.”

 

His eyes snapped open at that. “W—What?”

 

“Oh don’t play dumb, Malfoy.” Harry cut him off, annoyed. “I made it perfectly clear. Did you think if you just _ignored_ me enough I’m going to change my mind?”

 

Draco sat up at that, eyes growing wide. “What? No—I—

 

“Shut up.” Harry hissed, looking like he might do permanent damage to Draco if he said another word. “I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

 

The blonde struggled to scramble off the bed. “Harry, no, wait—

 

“Go die in hell, Malfoy.” Harry said coldly, his eyes practically burning him alive.

 

And then he hit him with a stunner faster than Draco could react.

 

xXx

 

Draco had blew it.

 

Harry claimed illness the whole second day, hiding up in his room where no one could reach him. Despite the fact that this was his house, Draco didn’t actually have access to any of the guest bedrooms. No one did. No one could enter a potential mate’s rooms without the tacit approval of its current owner, and so far, no one had gained entrance to Harry’s room.

 

From the look of it, no one would, either.

 

Harry barely came out the third and final day, and even then it seemed to only be because of the Weasley. The other potential mate stayed close to Harry, keeping a wary eye on the interested Veela watching them both.

 

Harry didn’t even spare anyone a glance.

 

He looked awful, actually. If Draco hadn’t known better, he would have actually thought he was ill.

 

He was surprised to see the Veela next to him staring fixatedly on the Weasley. The Weasley did not look remotely interested, not even bothering to turn their way, even though he must have felt such a penetrating stare. Apparently Weasley had denied the Veela.

 

Well, at least someone else had fucked up too.

 

Although he probably hadn’t fucked up as bad as Draco.

 

His father had really chewed him out over that. And that was to say nothing of his mother. She was not at all enthused to hear that he’d tried to force himself on his mate. Draco tried to explain that nothing was working, that Harry wasn’t being responsive and he’d had to push the issue, but that had only made his mother angrier; angry enough to slap him across the face. She had told him in no uncertain terms that if the mate he’s trying to pursue is not being responsive, then he needed to move on to someone else. But she didn’t understand. Harry was the only one for him. It had become apparent to him over the course of the last few days without him around; none of these potential Veela mates mattered to him at all. Oh, they were all quite beautiful, some were witty and clever, others made him laugh—but none of them were Harry. There was something about Harry that called to him like a siren song, and Draco was starting to wonder if they really _were_ destined mates. That sort of compatibility was unheard of.

 

He’d have to talk to his father about it. Draco knew they happened sometimes, even if they were about as rare as soulmates. Veela didn’t _have_ one true intended. They mated for life, but they were free to choose whom that mate would be. Of course there were some people who were better choices than others—hence the potential mates—but ultimately if Draco really wanted to he should be able to choose someone as incompatible as Ron Weasley. Just the thought made him cringe, but all the same it wasn’t something preordained.

 

But it felt as if he was destined for Harry. It felt like fate. He couldn’t get the boy out of his mind.

 

He clenched his hands into fists when he saw other Veela approach Harry now that he had come out of his room.

 

Harry dismissed them all with the same impassivity as he had dismissed Draco. Draco sighed in relief every time a Veela slinked off with their tail between their legs, effectively rejected by the boy-who-lived. The boy paid them all no mind as he continued to eat his dinner, ignoring all the stares sent his way as he conversed with the Weasley. Draco noticed not all those stares were infatuated Veela—quite a few of them were from other potential Veela mates, jealous and angry that one of them was getting all the attention. No surprise there. Harry was clearly the fan favorite of this ball, despite the fact it was equally as clear Harry fucking hated every minute of this.

 

Draco let out a weary breath, shoving his untouched entree plate away. He found himself suspiciously lacking in appetite, as he had ever since Harry had told him to go to hell.

 

xXx

 

Harry returned looking like he would have preferred death. Incidentally so did Draco, but Hermione could care less about him. She was far more concerned over what had happened to Harry. The weekend couldn’t have gone by any slower; she had spent every minute fretting over her friend. Was he getting on okay? Were they pressuring him? Had he become intoxicated and allured by someone’s thrall and ended up sleeping with someone? And if he had, just what ramifications would it have for him later?

 

By the time he returned she had just enough time to affirm that nothing had happened, before he’d promptly trudged up to his dorm and fallen face first in his bed, out like a light.

 

Hermione didn’t blame him. He probably spent every moment of the past three days on guard, wondering if someone was going to sneak up on him and try to get in his pants.

 

“Hermione,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “It was awful. I felt like I had been abducted by the human sex trade and sold into a trafficking ring.”

 

Hermione sucked in a horrified breath. “Surely it wasn’t… that bad…”

 

He dropped his hands, eyes clear and dry but rubbed red around the edges, giving him a weary but austere look. “They encouraged us all to ‘go mingle’ in the rose garden, which ended up being a huge ploy to have the Veela’s chase us around and eventually corner us and claim us.”

 

“Parvati had mentioned something like that,” Hermione commented, feebly. “She called it ‘exciting and fun’.”

 

Actually, Parvati was over the moon about it, even though she had returned empty handed. She had spun the whole story the prior night; it sounded like a poorly scripted dating sim game. She went on and on about all the beautiful dresses, the handsome Veela boys, how sweet and gentleman-like they were. She had been dead certain that some German Veela was going to choose her, but he ended up going for someone else. He’d found her in the rose hedges, and they’d apparently danced together in a romantic, moonlit courtyard, and then he’d left to go get them drinks and never showed up again. _That_ had been a trip, Lavender had to console the girl the whole night over her rejection. At any rate, she spent the majority of the time ranting about how this other girl wasn’t even that pretty, and how amazing Malfoy Manor looked.

 

“Yeah, it probably would be, if you were enjoying yourself, and cared at all about sex.” Harry retorted, scowling. He’d noticed he and Charlie were the only real ones not into the thing at all. Everyone else was excited and charmed. And why wouldn’t they be? It was practically just a classier version of a giant banger of a house party, except this house party happened to be exclusively for attractive people only, and even though there was adult supervision, the adults were actually all for some teenage fooling around. Combine that with the free bar and it may as well have been the dream of every teenager’s existence.

 

Hermione gave him a mournful glance. “Harry, I’m so, so sorry.”

 

“Why are you sorry?” Harry replied, tiredly. “It’s not your fault. You’re not the one who came up with this convoluted mating dance.”

 

“I was the one who pressured you to go.” Hermione pointed out.

 

“You were just the one who was being logical.” Harry disagreed. “And you were right. It was awful, but at least now it’s over. By this time next year I intend to lose myself in the arctic, where no stupid owl can find me.”

 

“That’s the spirit.” She laughed. “Always look on the bright side!”

 

“My bright side is joining Elon Musk in his brigade to escape humanity at large.” Harry said, sagely. “Do you think I’m smart enough for SpaceX?”

 

Hermione laughed, even though they both knew he was only half joking. “We can spend the rest of the year making you into a mad scientist, how about that?”

 

xXx

 

Draco cornered Harry after Potions class one afternoon, and quite frankly Harry was surprised he managed to hold out that long to begin with. The blonde had been sending him sad hangdog looks all week; looks which Harry ignored with dexterous aplomb.

 

“I’m sorry,” he rushed to say, once they were alone. “About last weekend. I shouldn’t have… that was really wrong of me.”

 

Harry stared at him, nonplussed. Draco hated that the boy was so damn impossible to read. Not even his scent was all that forthcoming right now. The dark-haired gryffindor simply continued to watch him with luminous, blank eyes. Despite the apathy in those green depths, Draco couldn’t help but feel like they were judging the fuck out of him right now. And he’d probably deserve it.

 

“Yeah, it was.” Harry agreed with a sigh. “Don’t ever do that again, okay? To— to _anyone_.”

 

Draco nodded eagerly. “I won’t.” He promised, wholeheartedly. He wouldn’t. He didn’t want to be that kind of monster. He didn’t want to be so self-deluded again.

 

“I’ve done a lot of awful things to you,” Draco admitted. And even though it was difficult to acknowledge it even to himself, he knew he had to say it aloud. “Not just - _that_ , just everything. I’ve been a right arsehole to you, haven’t I?”

 

Somehow, Harry just shrugged. “You’re also a particularly immature teenage boy—  don’t be too hard on yourself.”

 

At least Draco had the excuse of being a bratty, spoiled, ignorant kid. He was a pompous moron and so damn self-centered it was hilarious, but ultimately Harry could see that he was, at the end of the day, just an entitled brat who didn’t know any better. He didn’t mean to cause all the damage he wrought upon others; he didn’t even really realize what he was doing. And he was a child. It was difficult to judge Draco too harshly when Harry had grown up in the sobering reality of adults who did the same thing, with both eyes open to the horrors they caused others. Draco was mean and moody and constantly hurt others with his petty spats and bullying, but Harry honestly didn't think he really knew any better. Meanwhile, there were people out there who took advantage of the weak and had no ignorance to speak of; his Uncle and Aunt being perfect examples.

 

Draco looked somewhat offended, before a defeated look crossed his features and his shoulders slumped. “Yeah.” He agreed, awkwardly.

 

Harry ran a wary hand through his hair, looking away. “Well, if that’s all, I’m going to get to class—

 

He turned away. Draco reached out to catch him by the arm.

 

Harry seized up, and the blonde immediately recoiled. “Sorry,” he said quickly. Right. Harry didn’t like being touched. He’d have to remember that. He made a conscious effort to pull his hand away, stuffing it into his pocket. “I just, um.”

 

Harry looked back at him, waiting silently.

 

Draco shifted his weight, feeling stupidly embarrassed. “Does that mean, um… do you forgive me?”

 

Harry blinked, before shrugging. “I guess.” He replied, noncommittally.

 

“Would you… would it be okay if we tried again?” He asked, far too hopefully.

 

Harry stared at him blankly.

 

“We don’t have to do— I didn’t mean try _that_ again.” Draco assured hastily. “I meant like starting over. Just the two of us… getting to know each other.”

 

Harry eyed him critically. “But wouldn’t your mate be mad about that?”

 

It was Draco’s turn to stare at him blankly. “What mate?”

 

Harry tilted his head, frowning. “Your… mate? From the party? Wasn’t that the whole point of that thing, to find a mate?”

 

Draco’s eyes widened in realization, before he was vehemently shaking his head. “Oh! No I— I didn’t take a mate.”

 

“Oh.” Harry said, his eyes growing big. “You… why?”

 

Draco shrugged, looking away. “Didn’t really want to.” He hedged evasively, causing Harry to look away too, a low flush on his cheeks.

 

Oh. So basically Draco didn’t take a mate because of him. Now Harry kind of felt bad. Kind of. Okay not really.

 

The blonde looked up then, suddenly overcome with a brazen, willful determination. “None of them held a candle to you.” He revealed, honestly.

 

He felt silly, and embarrassed, and completely out of his element, but he knew it was true. None of them were as good as Harry. Harry deserved all of this— no matter how embarrassing it was, he deserved to hear Draco’s apology and his regret and guilt. He deserved to have Draco begging on his knees for forgiveness. Harry was worth the consideration, and more. Draco knew with sudden clarity that he couldn’t be a self-important jerk about this; he couldn’t hide behind his family name and his own ego. If he wanted Harry, he was going to have to work for it. And Harry was worth the effort.

 

“Draco…” Harry replied, belatedly realizing this was the first time he’d ever used Malfoy’s given name.

 

Harry swallowed thickly; the blonde slytherin was looking at him so earnestly, so openly and honestly and Harry just didn’t know what to say in response. He couldn’t reciprocate. Draco seemed so damn genuine and Harry wished he could give him an adequate response, but he had none to give.

 

The dark-haired boy covered his face with his free hand, sighing, leaning against the wall with an exhausted ‘thump’. “Malfoy, this isn’t going to work.” He said, as calmly and patiently as he could.

 

That earnest spark disappeared from those gray eyes, a frown beginning to mar his aristocratic features. “Why not?”

 

“You don’t even really know me,” Harry tried first, because it was true.

 

Draco doesn’t care. “Well I can _get_ to know you.” He retorted immediately.

 

Harry struggled in silence.

 

He’d never actually had to… tell anyone. Hermione had sort of figured it out, and he’d only ever had to confirm her suspicions.

 

“Look, I’m not— this relationship you want... I just don’t think it would ever work out between us. I think we’re just looking for different things.”

 

“Different things?” The  blonde repeated, confused. “What do you mean? Like, relationships?”

 

“Yes, that sort of thing.” Harry hedged, anxiously.

 

Draco’s brow furrowed. “You… don’t want to be in a relationship right now? Is that it?” Understanding crossed his gaze. “Oh, I see. We don’t have to start anything like that right away. Like I said, I just want to get to know you, as a person. We can take as long as you need.”

 

“Which is fine and all,” Harry agreed quickly. “But that’s not exactly what I mean. If you want to try and be friends, fine, but if your end goal in this is to have a relationship with me, I really don’t think we’re compatible.”

 

“How can you know, though?” Draco challenged. “We don’t even really know each other. How can you say that before we even get to know each other? We might be more compatible than you think.”

 

“I really don’t think so.” Harry sounded slightly amused at the very idea.

 

“But how can you know?” Draco prodded further.

 

“Because I was there, that weekend? Because I know at least enough about Veela to know how mating works? We don’t want the same things.”

 

“But how do you _know_?” He urged, again.

 

Harry stared at him for a long moment, as if considering him seriously.

 

“I don’t like sex.” Harry blurted out, all at once. “I’m asexual.”

 

Draco blinked.

 

“And before you say it— _yes_ I am sure.” Harry added, rolling his eyes. “I’m not ‘doing it wrong’; it’s not because I haven’t ‘found the right person yet’; I’m not even confused over what gender I prefer. I don’t like sex. I don’t want to ever have to have it.”

 

Draco’s mouth opened, as he floundered for words.

 

“I’m not attracted to people like that. I’ve never once thought of sex and thought it was something I would like to do. There’s nothing wrong with me, I just don’t like it.” Harry continued, patiently.

 

“So you’re never going to want anyone?” Draco finally managed to get out. “You’re never going to have sex? Ever?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes again. “Never.” He concurred, drily.

 

“You’re not even going to try?”

 

“I’ve already tried— not that it mattered. I already knew the answer without having to try.”

 

“But— “ Draco blinked rapidly, looking utterly perplexed. “What? How?”

 

Harry laughed. “How what? How am I like this? I don’t know, Malfoy, I’ve always been like this.”

 

Draco shook his head. “How can you… I just, I don’t know. I can’t imagine. How can you not want sex, at all?”

 

Harry still looked amused. “What do you want me to say? Why don’t I like it? Why do some girls like other girls? Why do some boys like boys? Why do an ungodly amount of Gryffindor girls want to have sex with a Centaur who teaches Divination? I don’t know what to tell you.”

 

Draco choked on a laugh at that last one. “Gryffindor girls? Try _all_ the girls.”

 

Harry smiled slightly, looking devastatingly beautiful. Draco wished he didn’t have to notice that right now.

 

Then the Gryffindor shakes his head. “Anyway, my point is that I don’t know why I am the way I am, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

 

Draco digested this slowly, staring at the ground. He looked pensive. “I see.”

 

Harry smiled at him wanly. “So when I say it’s really not you— I mean it. It’s nothing personal. I just don’t want that.”

 

“Yeah.” He said again, because he didn’t know what else to say.

 

Harry spared him a long glance, looking completely unconvinced. “Right.” He said, getting up. “Well, anyway, I have to get to Charms. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

 

xXx

 

So basically the one person Draco wanted more than anyone else, any _thing_ else in the whole wide world - wanted nothing to do with him. Or anyone, for that matter.

 

Pretty much all of Draco’s fantasies were now completely worthless. None of them would ever come true; not even in the abstract. Harry didn’t even like sex. He would never stretch himself along Draco’s bed and beg for his cock. He would never get on his hands and knees and beg for Draco to come and fuck him quick and dirty. There would be no sex on the bed, no sex in the shower, no sex in the Potion’s lab, in the infirmary, behind the Quidditch pitch…

 

He doesn’t even like sex, Draco thought.

 

His head fell back against the tiled shower wall with a heavy thud. One of his hands is in his hair, the other wrapped around his still half hard erection.

 

He can’t even get off on it anymore. Indulging in his Harry Potter fantasies had quickly become his favorite past time of Seventh year; he’s fairly sure all his roommates know it too, judging by the amount of time he likes to spend in the shower these days. He doesn’t even know what to do with himself now that they’ve all turned to ash. He _has_ to have other fantasies than this, right? Other people to think about, other wants, other eyes to imagine, other lips descending on his cock—

 

He cursed under his breath, releasing his erection to slam his fist against the wall.

 

He has no right to be angry.

 

But he’s furious anyway.

 

He’s not even sure who he’s angry at, if he’s angry at anyone at all. It feels like a rage drifting on nothing at all, swelling up and out of his pent up frustrations and lust. He’s frustrated. He’s mad and basically throwing a tantrum because he can’t have the toy he’s been whining about all year long. It’s stupid and he knows it, and yet that doesn’t stop him from slamming his hand into the tile a second time.

 

He can’t even have his fantasies anymore.

 

They’re all tainted by the reality of what they really are. Delusional. Unrealistic. He can’t even _pretend_ anymore, because now all he sees is Harry, the _real_ Harry, standing in his image’s place. Harry straddling his waist, grinding against him, eyes half-lidded— _I don’t like sex._

 

Draco groaned aloud.

 

Yeah, no. Harry would probably never voluntarily straddle his waist, at least not with the intention of doing anything about it.

 

He doesn’t even… does Harry have sex, at all? Does he get off in the shower, like Draco is (or was) trying to do now? What would he do, if Draco pushed him down onto his bed and crawled on top of him? The same thing he did the last time Draco tried that, he would imagine. Knee him in the nuts.

 

Draco shut off the shower with an irritated breath, not satisfied in the least.

 

He needed to stop thinking about Harry bloody Potter. He’d just end up with an eternal case of blue balls if he let himself continue down this road. There were tons of other potential Veela mates for him to pursue. Mates who would be as interested in sex as he was. Veela were very sexual creatures, and usually potential mates were equally as sexual. Not Potter, though. Of course not. Trust Potter to be the singular, blinding exception to that rule—

 

Fuck. He’s thinking about the boy again.

 

 _No more,_ he vowed to himself, as he wrapped a towel around his waist and exited the stall. _His obsession with Potter ended here._

 

xXx

 

Of course, he’s been saying that for years with nothing to show for it. He always told himself to stop obsessing over some stupid Gryffindor golden boy, and it never worked out all that well for him. Within a week he was back to bullying and antagonizing the boy into explosive reactions.

 

In hindsight, he can see why his father wasn’t surprised in the least with his choice.

 

Has he really done nothing these past seven years but attempt to get Potter’s attention?

 

Merlin, he’s pathetic.

 

He tried not to think about the boy. He really did.

 

He stopped thinking about the boy in any sexual manner at all, cut out all his fantasies from his life and Merlin, wasn’t that a shame. Thinking of having sex with Harry when he knew the boy wouldn’t ever want to have sex with him felt odd and somewhat invasive, so all those fantasies were worthless now anyway.

 

Unfortunately, this did not stop him from thinking about Harry.

 

Instead, his mind just gravitated towards other things. He and Harry out by the Great Lake, chasing each other around the Quidditch Pitch, sneaking out late to look at the stars in the astronomy tower. Looking at stars, for Merlin’s sake! No one went to the astronomy tower to actually look at stars! The only thing people ever cared about up there was snogging, and Draco’s imagination had gotten so platonic he didn’t even bother to try to imagine up that scenario.

 

As it turned out, he didn’t want to just fuck Harry Potter. Apparently he also wanted to hold his hand, take him for long moonlit walks around the late, and fancy dinners with just the two of them.

 

He wished he had known that earlier, _before_ he had so catastrophically screwed everything up.

 

And anyway, did Harry even want that, either? Maybe it was more than just sex. Maybe Harry didn’t want anyone, period. Maybe he just didn’t like humanity at large. Draco didn’t know. He had sort of assumed that Harry didn't want a relationship either, but upon further thought he realized they weren't necessarily mutually exclusive. It occurred to him that Harry had only said he didn't like sex; he didn't say anything about not liking relationships.

 

So Draco said he was done with Harry Potter. And then he goes and starts to stalk the shit out of him.

 

He’s not all that stealthy about it either. Potter might not notice, being the oblivious air-headed Gryffindor that he is, but it was only a matter of time until other people started.

 

“Malfoy,” Granger said, nonplussed. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

He shot straight up, losing his balance on the staircase he was precariously hanging off of and nearly fell straight down five stories. Hermione Granger stood behind him, books tucked under her arm, clearly on her way to the library. A few floors beneath them, Harry’s laughter drifted off as he and the Weasel left to go play some Quidditch outside.

 

“None of your business Granger.” He snapped, heatedly.

 

Hermione only spared him a cool look. “I see,” she began evenly, arching a brow, “In the same way what Harry does on the weekend is none of _your_ business?”

 

Draco flushed. “I wasn’t—

 

“Stalking him?” Granger cut him off, drily. “No, of course not. You’ve just been conveniently nearby these past few days.”

 

Damn. Caught.

 

“What are you doing, Malfoy?” She continued, eying him closely. “What are you _really_ doing?”

 

Draco debated his options, and found them favorable. Granger was one of Potter’s best friends. She probably knew everything there was to know about him. She’s spent almost half her life in his company. And between her and Weasley, she was an infinitely better choice to gather information from.

 

“Potter said I didn’t know anything about him.” He replied, stiffly.

 

“Not untrue.” Granger quipped back.

 

He shrugged. “I wanted to change that. But I’m not really sure how.”

 

“You couldn’t just try asking him?” She deadpanned.

 

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.” He glowered.

 

This at least gave Granger pause. She appeared to think it over, canting her hip as she looked away with a calculating expression. Draco forced himself not to fidget, refusing to feel uneasy.

 

“I guess that is a bit of a predicament.” She sighed, at length. “But isn’t that a sign that you should just let it go?”

 

“I don’t want to.” He retorted, stubbornly.

 

“It doesn’t really matter what you want, now does it?” She returned smugly. Draco glowered further. Damn she was right though.

 

He took a deep breath. “Look, Granger,” she appeared visibly surprised with the civility in his tone as he addressed her, “I just want one more chance, that’s it. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t work. But I want to at least try to do it right.”

 

Granger observes him closely. “That’s all well and good, but are you even sure Harry’s right for you? I mean, you’re a Veela and he’s… well, um, he’s not really—

 

“A sexual person?” Draco filled in, smirking at the surprise on her face. “Yeah, he told me.”

 

The look washed away as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Probably had to, what with you assaulting him and all.”

 

He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. He deserved that one. “I didn’t mean to—

 

“And if you already know, why are you still pursuing him?” She spoke over him briskly, not even bothering to hear his apologies. He probably deserved that too.

 

“What— because— “ He stuttered, blushing. “Maybe I don’t care about it either!” He retorted petulantly, crossing his arms. “Relationships are more than just sex, right?”

 

The brunette gave him a very nonplussed look. Then she sighed. When she spoke again, her voice was actually perhaps a bit gentle; “That’s… a very nice gesture, Malfoy. But it’s just— ” She bit her lip, faltering slightly; “are you sure you’ll be okay with that?”

 

Draco stared at her blankly.

 

“I mean, you’re a Veela. It’s in your nature… isn’t it?” She blushed, and hastily added, “And that’s totally fine. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just, asexuality is a spectrum, you know, and Harry is at like, the _very end_ of it.”

 

He blinked. “No, I don’t know.” He said, slowly. “What does that mean, spectrum?”

 

Hermione looked conflicted. “... You don’t know?”

 

The blonde slytherin shook his head. “No, I don’t. I don’t know anything. Just what Harry told me.”

 

“What did he tell you?”

 

“That he was asexual.” Draco shrugged. “He didn’t really explain what that meant though, aside from the fact he didn’t like sex with anyone.”

 

The gryffindor stared at him with something he thinks is pitying. Usually he would be cursing her out for such a patronizing gesture, but he is a slytherin first and foremost, and he has no trouble pushing aside his pride in order to manipulate this situation to further his own agenda. He turned big, pleading eyes to her. Eyes that never failed to get his parents to buy him whatever he wants, and Snape to write him as many passes into the restricted section as he wanted.

 

“I just want to understand him, but it’s really difficult for me. My family— and other purebloods— don’t talk about this sort of thing. And there’s nothing of the sort in my library at home, or the library here, so I’m really in a bind here.”

 

Hermione wavered visibly. It worked, hook, line and sinker.

 

“Fine, fine.” She sighed. “I suppose it’s really not your fault you don’t have any resources at your disposal… the wizaridng world can be woefully unprogressive, and I guess I can’t even just tell you to google it.” She rambled, shaking her head. “Fine. I’ll find something for you. Just hang tight and stop with the stalking, okay?”

 

Draco smirked. “Sure. Thanks for the help, Granger.”

 

He couldn’t exactly tell if he’d won her over or not, but at the very least, he’d managed to get Harry’s best friend to acknowledge his efforts, even if it wasn’t a tacit approval of them.

 

xXx

 

A few days later Granger discreetly pushed a small, plain white paperback book into his hands called, _The Invisible Orientation._

 

It was a bit like falling down a rabbit hole.

 

Draco hadn’t been kidding when he had said this wasn’t a topic often discussed in pureblood circles, but he certainly had vastly underestimated the reality of his own words. Wizarding society didn’t discuss things like this, and certainly not in this way. He hadn’t even realized muggles had an issue with same-gender relationships; for as long as Draco could remember, that was perfectly reasonable and acceptable. The idea of a stigma against it was difficult to wrap his head around, but eventually it made some sense, he supposed. Many magical creatures could reproduce regardless of gender pairing, Veela included. And since they were such a prevalent part of magical society, the idea of same sex relationships was commonplace and normal. Even humans could reproduce regardless of gender with the help of potions.

 

To muggles though, the whole thing was freakish and unnatural. They had no means to reproduce like that, and there were no magical creatures to set the precedent. It was just one of the many issues surrounding the current modern debate between muggleborn and pureblood values.

 

But at any rate, just because it was widely accepted in the magical world, didn’t necessarily mean it was widely discussed. If anything, such acceptance had caused a complete lack of interest in the subject. Muggles apparently had whole books and fields of study dedicated to sexuality, with asexuality being a small facet of it.

 

The book not only showed him just how little he knew about sexuality, but about muggles in general.

 

Even the thought of them made him shrivel his nose. He had no interested in muggles. They were beneath him. Unfortunately, Harry was not only asexual, he was also basically a muggleborn. Growing up in the muggle world meant Harry, despite being a half-blood an heir to the Potter family, was as clueless to magical society as any other muggleborn entering the world at eleven. It meant he identified with muggleborns more than he did purebloods like Draco. He was more acclimated to their society. If Draco truly wanted to pursue him, than he would have to accept that this was part of Harry’s personality and history— just as much as his asexuality.

 

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to research Harry’s history as he could his sexuality, so if he wanted to know anything about the boy, he’d have to ask him himself.

 

Granger left him well enough alone as he systematically devoured the book in a matter of hours, and then left him to ponder on his own conclusions. She didn’t mention the book to him, or to Harry, thankfully, or any of the other gryffindors. She wasn’t _really_ helping him, but at the very least she didn’t seem to be actively sabotaging him, either. So far she’d just helped him further his general knowledge on the human species, which didn’t necessarily have to correlate to helping him with Harry.

 

This was why he was apprehensive when he saw her and Harry split up after dinner, as her eyes caught his own.

 

The two gryffindors were spending the early evening in a windowed alcove, discussing something or other with lively smiles and laughter, surrounded by their fellow lions. As the hour grew later, most of the lions left for the common room, leaving the two of them alone. Finally, Hermione could no longer resist the call of the library, and had moved to gather up her things. She asked Harry if he’d like to join her, but the dark-haired gryffindor waved her off, saying he’d like to stay out here a little longer and enjoy the warm weather. Hermione didn’t push him, knowing that Harry enjoyed his solitude.

 

Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of a familiar blonde ferret exiting the Great Hall, sans his usual posse. It didn’t appear as if he had been lurking around waiting for an opportunity to corner Harry, but Hermione was suspicious nonetheless. Was he really just finishing up dinner with some very good timing, or had he been waiting for the gryffindors to leave?

 

She supposed this was a conversation that would have to happen one way or the other, and Harry was perfectly capable of handling himself.

 

With that thought, she gave him a slight nod as she passed him, but made no move to stop him.

 

Draco watched the muggleborn pass him by with something akin to disbelief.

 

He wasn’t sure what to think about that, but he supposed he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and gladly seized the opening.

 

He walked up to where the boy was gazing out into the expanse of shadowed grounds; he could tell when Harry noticed his presence, for the boy stiffened slightly. Draco stopped a few meters away from him and hovered awkwardly, wondering if Harry would politely ask him to respect his personal space. The boy only spared him a glance though, before returning to look out the window. Draco wondered if this was progress.

 

He sat down slowly on the ledge across from the boy.

 

“Why don’t you tell me… about your family.” He struggled through his words, feeling horribly awkward about the whole affair. By Merlin this was hard; but he had to do it. “Your muggle family.”

 

Harry looked at him like he had transformed into a hippogriff. It was a look that was probably warranted; it wasn’t his most tactful start to a conversation. “...My family?” He repeated, incredulous.

 

“Yes.” Draco replied, uncomfortably. “You said I didn’t know the first thing about you… I thought your family would be a good place to start.”

 

Harry simply stared at him for a long time.

 

Those enchanting eyes blinked once, and then Draco saw what he thought was a hint of a smile. It was gone upon second glance, so he may very well have just imagined it.

 

“You care about your family quite a bit, don’t you?” Harry asked, quietly.

 

“Of course.” Draco replied, immediately. “Family is everything.”

 

Harry supposed it would be, for purebloods. For most people, really, but purebloods like the Malfoy’s in particular. Their blood was their everything, so it would only stand to reason that family would be their everything as well.

 

“I used to have an awful relationship with my muggle relatives, actually.” Harry confessed. “They were the only family I knew of, and they treated me like garbage.”

 

Draco looked up in horror.

 

“To be fair, my Aunt and Uncle are still not fond of me, but my cousin Dudley and I get along swimmingly these days. He used to spend our childhood chasing me around and bullying me and trying to beat me up, but you see, one day when I was twelve and they had turned my room into a jail cell and locked me up for the whole summer—

 

Draco’s look of horror grew tenfold.

 

“Dudley and I realized I was really, really good at this game, League of Legends. You see, Dudley loved this game, but was utter pants at it. Meanwhile, I was really quite good, and Dudley realized if he played with me all the time he could use me to make himself better.” Harry continued, conversationally. “And ever since then Dudley and I have this really great relationship where we don’t talk to each other and just play games all the time, and his parents more or less leave us alone. It’s swell.”

 

Draco still looked unequivocally lost.  

 

“That’s not normal, is it?” He hazarded, after a beat.

 

“Oh no, not at all.” Harry guffawed, quite tickled at the very idea. “But it’s worked out really well. Dudley likes me, and in turn his parents have learned to accept my presence. But since they don’t care about me, they let me do whatever I want. The summers are really nice; I get to explore Muggle London as much as I want. And if I want to buy stuff I do odd jobs or whatnot, or go to the goblins and exchange galleons for pounds.”

 

“If you agree to mate with me, you’ll never have to worry about having to work menial jobs again.” Draco pointed out.

 

Harry laughed. “Who said I was worried? I like working, Malfoy. I like earning the things I own; I like knowing that money is mine and I worked for it all. Does that make sense?”

 

Draco frowned. “I suppose so.”

 

All the same he didn’t quite understand it. Why would Harry want to subject himself to that sort of drudgery, when he could spend all his days work-free and worriless with the Malfoy fortune? It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t be occupied, like most pureblood families his parents spent their time managing their assets and investments, and staying involved with politics. But he would never have to do menial labor ever again. Merlin, like he was a _house elf_ or something. Draco couldn’t even fathom it.

 

“You know, you can do all that if you like.” He offered, after a beat. “No one’s stopping you from working for your own money.” Even if he thought it ridiculous.

 

Harry gave him a long look. After a moment, Draco even thought it might have turned a bit pitying, before the brunette shook his head with a sigh. “It’s not about that, Malfoy.”

 

“Draco,” he insisted.

 

Harry’s expression turned pinched. “Look, Malfoy.” He started, ignoring Draco’s attempt at getting them to act closer to each other. “Thank you for trying, and trying nicely this time— but this isn’t going to work.”

 

Draco frowned deeply. “But why?”

 

Harry paused then, and looked like he was considering something. In the end though, he simply shrugged. “It just isn’t. I’m not interested.”

 

Not interested? The idea was boggling, and if Draco was being honest, a blow to his pride. He reminded himself that he was a great catch, the greatest even, and he didn’t even think he was being all that egotistical in saying so. He was good-looking, rich, smart… occasionally he could be a bit bratty but honestly he could be nice and charming as well. He treated his friends well, was incredibly loyal to his family, and would be a loyal and responsive husband. And he was a Veela.

 

What exactly about him was so wholly unappealing?

 

“Is it because of our history?” He blinked, the thought occurring to him suddenly. “Because, because we’re… we’re—  

 

“ _Not_ friends?” Harry cut in helpfully, at least trying to be tactful about it.

 

“Yeah, that.” Draco ended, lamely.

 

Harry smiled a bit. “No, it’s not that either, Malfoy.”

 

“Then I don’t understand!” He retorted. “Is this a sex thing?”

 

Harry stared at him, nonplussed.

 

“I’m being serious here!” He insisted.

 

Harry sighed. “Yes, Malfoy, it is a sex thing. I know who you are and I know _what_ you are. Why are you still trying to pursue a relationship with someone you know isn’t interested in ever having sex with you?”

 

“Maybe it’s not about sex.” Draco folded his arms.

 

Harry spared him an incredulous look. “Malfoy, you’re a Veela. It’s always a sex thing with you.”

 

“So, what? I’m defined by my biology, is that what you’re saying?” Draco replied, impassively.

 

Harry looked surprised. He was quiet for a moment. “Well, no.” He admitted, at length.

 

“Then why won’t you at least consider it?” Draco pressed. “Not the sex - I get it, you don’t like it, you don’t want it. We don’t have to do it. But you won’t even think about me as just… me?”

 

“Draco…” Harry sighed, and he would be more thrilled to hear the boy finally call him by his name if they were having any other conversation but this one.

 

“You haven't told me you don't want a relationship.” Draco leaned forward, seriously. “I know there’s a difference. You said you're asexual, not aromantic.”

 

Harry looked completely blindsided to see that Draco actually knew the difference. Draco rolled his eyes. “I can do my research too, Potter. That skill isn’t solely reserved for reclusive erudites like Granger.” Even if the girl was the sole reason he even knew what to research at all.

 

Harry didn’t know what to say.

 

“I…” He blinked a few times, swallowing with difficulty. “I… Well, I guess there really is no reason…”

 

“So you’ll think about it, then?” He urged, hopefully. “Just— just think about it. Nothing else.”

 

“I’ll think about it.” Harry replied noncommittally. The look he sent Draco was wary and guarded.

 

Still, Draco felt nothing but relief. “Okay, good.” He replied, grinning. “Just think on it. That’s all I ask.”

 

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> -dub-con moment between Harry and Draco where Draco tries to hook up with him. Harry knees him in the nuts and tells him to go to hell 
> 
> -lots of mentions of dub-con /non-con from the whole Veela mating aspect
> 
> -Draco is kind of a massive dick in the beginning. He gets better as the story progresses
> 
> Will this ever be updated???? Who knows lol probably not though.


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